


Logic and Rationality

by Aerlalaith



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, Cute Kids, Fluff, M/M, Meet the Family, New Vulcan, Vulcan Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerlalaith/pseuds/Aerlalaith
Summary: Spock goes to visit his completely logical cousins, on what is definitely a completely logical consultation about relativistic physics, and is absolutely not a sentimental family reunion. He brings his completely illogical captain along for the ride.





	Logic and Rationality

“Listen,” said Jim. “Listen. Spock.” He paused to pant out a few breaths and wipe the sweat from his forehead. He swiped at his neck for a good measure, and watched the droplets drip off his fingertips with mild revulsion. “I love Vulcans,” he said. “You know—you know, really. I do. Good people. Great taste.”  
   
“I was not aware,” said Spock, clad in an incredibly heavy-looking black robe. Silver trim winked down the sides, sparkling as it caught the light from the blazing sun overhead. To be fair, it would have been hard for it to miss.  
   
Spock wasn’t sweating, Jim noticed. _Vulcans didn’t sweat_. Probably. He was mostly sure. He rallied to finish his point. “But,” he said, plaintive, “the places you guys pick to live?” He swept out his arm to indicate the bare rocks around them, the sun overhead, and the cloudless, windless, pale blue sky. “Awful. Horrible.”  
   
“Captain,” said Spock, with a downward twitch of the mouth that may have connotated concern. “Are you well?”  
   
“It’s really hot,” Jim told him. He could feel the heat of the red rock below his feet, even through his Starfleet issue boots. Their surroundings weren’t much better: jagged, red and orange rocks as far as the eye could see, the distant lights of the rest of New ShiKahr spread out far below.  
   
“You did not take the doctor’s tri-ox compound,” Spock surmised.  
   
“I did!” Jim said, indignant. “One of them.”  
   
“Captain.”  
   
“Exasperation isn’t logical,” Jim informed him. He would’ve bothered to sound smugger, but something in the way the light was dancing out of the corner of his eyes, was making him lose focus.  
   
“Fortuitously, the doctor has provided me with several more compounds,” Spock said, shifting the bag on his back in a not at all threatening manner.  
   
“I’m fine.” He said it like a reflex, like the way you do when someone taps you on the knee and you kick out your leg. I’m fine.  
   
“You are not fine,” Spock said, eyebrow shooting up in alarm and reaching for him as Jim missed a step and stumbled. He managed to catch hold of Jim’s arm before he fell flat on his face, but it was a near thing.  
   
Jim peered up at him. “I thought fine had, um. Variable.” He sighed. “Variable. Um. Definitions.”  
   
A lesser being would have pinched the bridge of his nose at this point. Instead, the already tight grip on Jim’s upper arm, tightened. “We should have requested the shuttle take us the entirety of the way.”  
   
“No way.” Jim struggled out of Spock’s grasp. Instead of letting him go, Spock guided him over to the side of the path, where there was a scant shadow in the overhang of some rocks. Tiny green spikes, looking somewhat akin to very thin cacti, pushed out of the ground in the shade. Jim was careful not to sit on them. He squirmed out of the straps on his bag, felt the sweat-dampened circle left behind on the back of his shirt growing cool to the touch.  
   
“Captain…”  
   
“Just give me a second.”  
   
“You shall need more than a second,” Spock said. Jim was pretty sure it wasn’t his First’s purview to make such ominous predictions, but he figured, given the situation, he’d let this one slide. He also let it slide when Spock dug into his bag and pulled out a tri-ox hypospray. Jim’s only acquiescence was his slump forward, and Spock, taking the gesture for what it was, pressed the hypospray gently to his neck.  
   
They breathed there for a while, Jim leaning back greedily to get as far into the shade as he could, Spock still as the stone surrounding them. An incredibly faint breeze wafted by. Jim watched as it ruffled the hair at the very top of Spock’s head. He bit back a grin when Spock immediately moved a hand to smooth it back down again.  
   
“Tell me about your cousins.”  
   
Spock shifted to face him. “There is little about them I can tell you that was not in the file.”  
   
Jim rolled his eyes. “Come on, Spock. Like you couldn’t have met with your cousin the big shot physicist, in the city. What’s with the home visit?”  
   
“T’Pel prefers the quieter environment of her home,” Spock hedged. “Besides, she has only recently given birth. It would not be beneficial for the infant to travel so far so soon.”  
   
 “Uh huh,” said Jim indulgently. He pressed his chin into the heel of his palm. “Tell me something that’s not in the file.”  
   
“Such as?”  
   
Jim shrugged. “How well did you know them growing up?”  
   
Spock was quiet for a moment. “They moved off-planet just before my fourteenth year.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “When they left, I was,” he hesitated. “You are aware that my emotional control was occasionally, ah, tenuous, as a child.” He looked away from Jim, out into the desert. “That was another area in which it was tested.”  
   
“You missed them.”  
   
“Their decision has since proved fortuitous, given the later fate of my planet,” said Spock, which was not a denial.  
   
Jim exhaled. Spock’s voice was steady as always, but the reminder of Vulcan still cut. He imagined it always would. “What did you do when they were there?” he asked instead. “Family reunions?” He tried to picture a bunch of Vulcans, like an Earth-style extended family reunion, all sitting together at picnic tables, eating plomeek soup, and wearing matching family t-shirts. It was somewhat disconcerting.  
   
“Their eldest, Selek, was a master of our ancestral desert survival techniques,” said Spock. “He would occasionally journey with me out into Vulcan’s Forge, to teach me his skills.”  
   
“Your older cousin took you camping?”  
   
“It was not for recreation.”  
   
“Mr. Spock,” said Jim, unable to hold back his grin, “that’s _totally_ the definition of recreation, I’m sorry to say.”  
   
“It was educational,” Spock argued, though for him, it was pretty half-hearted.  
   
“Uh huh. What else?”  
   
Spock sighed. “When I would visit their home,” he said, with the air of a man approaching his doom rather than about to relate a nostalgic childhood anecdote to his commanding officer, “Sasak would inevitably ensure that there was a supply of—” he paused.  
   
“Go on,” said Jim, trying not to sound too eager.  
   
“My mother was allergic to the _tolik_ fruit,” said Spock. “But I. That is, it is a very nutritious fruit and there is a particular pastry that may…” he trailed off. “Jim, I do not understand what is humorous.”  
   
“Nothing, nothing,” Jim quickly reassured him. “I just—it’s sweet.”  
   
Spock raised an eyebrow. “The pastry is somewhat sweet, yes.”  
   
Jim bumped his shoulder. “No, Spock,” he said. “It’s sweet that they’d make sure to have your favorite food.”  
   
“A favorite food,” Spock began imperiously.  
   
“Oh, shut up,” Jim said fondly. “You know I’m right.”  
   
Spock pressed his lips together. “Have you rested sufficiently?”  
   
“No more storytelling?”  
   
“Captain,” Spock said, “I did assure T’Pel that we would be present in time for the evening meal.”  
   
“Right.” Taking stock of his body, Jim groaned as he shifted his weight, testing out if his legs might hold him this time. It was still unbearably hot, but at least the tri-ox was taking effect. “I think I could keep walking.” He glanced up at Spock, who was already on his feet. Spock inclined his head.  
   
“Very well.”  
   
“Help me up?”  
   
He didn’t even need to bother batting his eyes, Jim thought. Without hesitation, Spock reached down and grasped him by the wrist. He tugged, and Jim came up, knees cracking.  
   
“That does not sound healthful,” Spock commented. He let go, Jim’s wrist and hands slipping through his fingers.  
   
“You know, some people consider it rude to remind them they’re on the downward side of thirty?”  
   
“Captain,” said Spock, “you are only thirty-five.”  
   
“Yeah,” said Jim. “But I used to be twenty-five.”  
   
Spock looked at him, gaze assessing. His eyes swept up and down Jim’s form. Jim felt the sudden, self-conscious urge to shuffle his feet, but he held his ground.  
   
“I find you preferable as you are now,” he said. He hefted his bag over one shoulder. “Shall we continue, Captain?” And without waiting for an answer, he turned and carried on his march up the mountain path, leaving Jim gaping behind him, scrambling to catch up.  
   
Spock had said that they were close, and Vulcans weren’t supposed to lie, so Jim had taken that on faith. Another hour into their walk, and he was regretting it now. He didn’t see any houses. He didn’t see much of anything.  
   
“I thought you said we were close.”  
   
“When you queried, we were more than three quarters of the way to our destination.”  
   
“Spock,” Jim complained. He was dripping sweat again.  
   
“I estimate another ten minutes.”  
   
“Estimate?”  
   
“Your pace has slowed, Captain. I cannot reliably predict how much—”  
   
“Okay, Spock. Okay, okay.” Jim hadn’t meant to snap, but his patience was beginning to wear thin. “Ten minutes?” He had to fight to make his voice sound even. Frustration wasn’t going to get him anything but a stiff Vulcan.  
   
“Approximately,” said Spock.  
   
Jim took a deep breath. “Lead on,” he said.  
   
It was actually only a few more bends around another outcrop before he saw the house. The air was shimmering, and Jim wasn’t sure if his eyes were functioning entirely reliably at that point, but he squinted into the distance anyway. “Is that…?”  
   
“It is.”  
   
Jim tilted his head. “That looks, you know I swear that looks kind of familiar?”  
   
“It is possible,” Spock agreed.  
   
A few more minutes of walking, and Jim was sure of it. “Is that _adobe_?” he said, voice tinged in disbelief. It certainly looked like adobe. The thickly rounded walls, the flat roofs, the rounded wooden beams sticking out the front. They could have been in New Mexico.  
   
“Sasak is an architect,” said Spock. Jim gave him a narrow look.  
   
“That doesn’t explain--"  
   
“We are here.” Spock’s arm shot out to prevent Jim from tripping up the steps. “Careful, Jim.”  
   
“I’m good,” said Jim. His legs felt like rubber. He was glad to enter the shade of the porch, and did not protest Spock’s steadying grip. “You going to knock, or…?”  
   
After first making sure that Jim could be relied upon to stay upright, Spock reached for a button set closely into the mud of the outer wall. Jim allowed his gaze to flit upward, towards the wide wooden beams that supported the roof shading the front of the house. Where the hell had they gotten those? Certainly not this planet. There was a set of wind chimes hanging off the corner of one of the logs. Jim bent to examine them, now entirely bemused.  
   
The door swung open. Jim jerked his head up.  
   
“ _Spock_ ,” said a man standing in the doorway. He was swamped in those Vulcan robes, though unlike Spock’s, his were a pale brown. His hair was dark, slightly longer than Spock’s regulation Starfleet cut, and covered the tips of his ears, though it did not hide his brows. His expression was…Jim blinked. His expression _was_ , which was a lot more than Jim could say for most of the Vulcans he’d meet, including his First Officer. _What_ it was, Jim couldn’t be quite sure. Given the spots dancing in the corners of his eyes, Jim figured he might also be imagining the whole thing, but he didn’t think so.  
   
“Cousin,” said Spock. He held up his hand in the ta’al. “ _Dif tor heh smusma._ ”  
   
The man held up his own hand. “Peace and long life, Spock.” He tilted his head, the edges of his eyes softening. “It is fortunate you were able to come.”  
   
“Indeed,” said Spock. He gestured to Jim, who was, at that point, feeling quite floaty. He recognized that this was probably not a good sign, but he had the presence of mind to raise his own hand in the ta’al. Starfleet training was good for nothing if not for diplomacy under duress. “My Captain, James Kirk.” He turned to Jim. “Captain, my father’s cousin, Sasak.”  
   
“Sir,” said Jim, who didn’t think his tongue could quite manage the Vulcan phrase at this exact instant.  
   
Sasak’s gaze traveled over to Jim. He inclined his head in a motion uncannily like Spock. “Captain,” he said. “You are welcome in our home.”  
   
“Thank you,” said Jim, right before the spots in front of his eyes won out, and he toppled sideways into a dead faint.  
   
   
#  
   
   
He was somewhere cool and dark. His head ached. His tongue felt dry and swollen. Jim cracked open an eye.  
   
A very small, very serious face peered down at him.  
   
“Uh,” he said.  
   
His visitor continued to stare. With as much brain function as he could manage, Jim took in the large brown eyes, the upturned nose, the sweeping eyebrows and, finally, the very tiny pointed ears of a Vulcan boy. If Jim had been reckoning in human terms, this kid couldn’t have been much older than four or five.   
   
“Hi,” said Jim. His voice cracked.  
   
His visitor said nothing, but his eyes widened as Jim, gritting his teeth, pushed himself up on his elbows. His muscles screamed at him. Jim sucked in a breath. What the hell, maybe the kid didn’t speak Standard.  
   
“ _Dif tor heh smusma,”_ he rasped and, after a moment’s effort, managed to hold up his hand.  
   
The kid tilted his head, eyes darting from Jim’s face, to the ta’al, to Jim’s face again. “ _Sochya eh dif_ ,” he returned in a solemn, piping voice that had everything in Jim instantly melting into a tiny puddle of metaphorical goo on the bed.  
   
Had Spock been like this, when he was little? Fuck, this kid was cute.  
   
“Uh,” said Jim. The kid continued to regard him, although this time there seemed like there was a bit less nervousness and a bit more fascination. Jim knew his Vulcan wasn’t the best, but he knew enough to struggle by. “ _Wilat if Spock?”_  
   
“ _Spock_?” the kid echoed, like he had zero idea who the hell Jim was talking about.  
   
Jim sighed _. “Vu sa-mekh?”_ he tried.  
   
The kid babbled something, but Jim wasn’t sure if he quite caught it. His father was…in a room? His temples began to throb more forcefully.  
   
There was a commotion at the door. At the noise, the kid’s face blanched.  
   
_Ah_ , Jim thought, a self-made expert at recognizing a guilty expression even if a Vulcan was the one wearing it. _Busted._  
   
“Avarak,” said a sharp voice. A woman strode through the door. Her black hair was piled high on her head in a mess of whorled ringlets and braids, her red tunic and leggings cut loose. She held a swaddled bundle in her arms.  
   
Avarak gulped. “ _Tonk’peh, Ko-mekh_.” He pointed at Jim and said something else. Jim’s untrained ear caught the words for ‘guest,’ ‘awake,’ and ‘inform.’  
   
“ _Gla-tor nash-veh,”_ said the woman in a voice that was dry enough to give Spock a run for his money.  
   
“ _Ah_ ,” said Avarak, earnestly. He brought his hands behind his back, bouncing on the soles of his feet.  
   
Jim decided to take pity on him. “Lady T’Pel?” he asked, in an attempt to redirect her attention.

The woman looked at him. There were a few lines around her mouth and her eyes, hints of grey in her hair, but otherwise her face was fairly youthful. That didn’t mean much with Vulcans, Jim reminded himself. She was old enough to be Spock’s mother and, by extension, certainly old enough to be his. “Captain,” she said. “It is good you have recovered from the heat. Be welcome in our home.”  
  
By now the gesture was old hat. “ _Dif tor heh smusma_.”  
   
“Peace and long life,” T’Pel returned, nodding. She cut a glance over to the small figure by Jim’s bedside. “I apologize for my son’s conductance,” she said. As much as a Vulcan could look exasperated, she did. “His curiosity occasionally leads him outside the bounds of courtesy.”  
   
“No harm done,” said Jim. He chanced the tiniest of smiles. “He was polite enough to indulge my terrible accent.”  
   
Something in T’Pel’s shoulders loosened. “How is your health?” she queried. As she spoke, she changed her grip on the bundle in her arms. Jim saw a tiny wrinkled hand poking through the cloth.  
   
“I’m feeling much better,” Jim assured her. “I apologize about the, uh,” he waved his hand towards the door. “The collapsing.”  
   
T’Pel looked nonplussed. “It is understandable. The heat here is not suited to your physiology.” The corners of her mouth twitched southward. “Perhaps it would have been better for you to have taken a shuttle.”  
   
There was definitely a ‘ _someone_ should have known better’ lurking in that sentence somewhere, but Jim got the sense that he, at least, was not the _someone_ in question. “We haven’t had much of a chance to spend time on-planet recently,” said Jim. “It was my idea to walk. I guess I didn’t realize how hot it was going to get.”  
   
T’Pel hummed in response. Clearly no matter what Jim said, Spock was going to be the victim of a very logical chastisement.  
   
Jim was about to say more, but just as he was opening his mouth, a small, mewling sound began to emanate from the blankets in T’Pel’s arms. Jim blinked. T’Pel let out a breath.  
   
“I must feed her.” She shifted the bundle. “I will inform Spock that you are awake and recovering.”  
   
“Thanks,” said Jim. “But it’s no trouble, I can—”  
   
“Captain,” said T’Pel. There was steel in her voice. “You are our guest.”  
   
Jim sank back down into the pillows. “Okay,” he said. “If you’re—” he caught himself. “Thank you.”  
   
With a last nod, T’Pel left his bedside and glided out of the door, serene even in the face of whining baby and illogical human.   
   
Jim watched her go. “So,” he said conversationally, into the silence, “do you think—”  
   
T’Pel stuck her head back into the doorway. “ _Avarak_ ,” she said firmly.  
   
Jim didn’t even bother to hide his grin as Avarak sullenly left the side of the bed and trailed after his mother and now-wailing baby sister.  
   
“Guess not,” he said, when they had gone and he was sure T’Pel was safely out of earshot. “Tough luck, kid.”  
   
   
#  
   
   
Spock came around just as Jim was deciding whether or not it was worth it to try getting out of bed anyway. That is, barely three minutes after T’Pel had taken her leave.  
   
“Captain,” he said, stepping into the room. “I have spoken to Dr. McCoy.”  
   
“You didn’t,” groaned Jim.  
   
“I did.”  
   
“Damn it, Spock, I’m _fine_.”  
   
Spock linked his arms behind his back. “You passed out from the heat. I do not believe that that qualifies you as ‘fine’ under any definition.”  
   
Jim made a face. “Well? What’d he say?”  
   
“He suggested hydration and rest.”  
   
“Really.” Jim’s face was skeptical. “That’s all he said.”  
   
“I am neglecting to pass on the profanities.”  
   
“I’ll bet he laughed, too, didn’t he,” Jim grumbled.  
   
“He did,” Spock confirmed, with exactly zero care for how bruised Jim’s ego was going to be by the end of this trip.  
   
Jim snorted. “Typical.” He brushed his hand along the smooth cloth of the coverlet he had been lying on top of. “Good visit so far?” He took the earthenware cup that Spock handed to him, and sipped at the water inside gratefully.  
   
“It has been gratifying to speak with Sasak and T’Pel,” said Spock. At a waved invitation from Jim, he sat himself down gingerly on the side of the bed, just to the left of Jim’s knees. “Sasak is one of the main architects of the new Central Administration building.”  
   
That sounded less than thrilling, Jim thought, but had the good sense not to say so. Spock probably thought it was fascinating. Jim scratched his arm. “Cool. I met the kids. Avarak and the,” he gestured, “the little one.”  
   
“T’Satak,” Spock supplied.  
   
“Yeah,” said Jim. His eyes twinkled. “Avarak seemed like a rather inquisitive kid. Take after anyone you know?”  
   
Spock raised his chin. “T’Pel’s curiosity has earned her many accolades in her field.”  
   
Jim smirked at him. “Uh huh. And you’ve never once broken the rules in your quest for knowledge, have you, Mr. Spock?”  
   
The corners of Spock’s mouth twitched. He crossed his arms. “Absurd, Captain.” He cocked his head. “At the very least, I was never caught.”  
   
That surprised a laugh out of Jim, though laughing made his throat hurt. He eased it with another gulp of water. “I’d believe it.” His expression turned contemplative. “Still, it can’t be easy. You said Selek was much older than you, right?”  
   
“Sixteen years my senior,” Spock confirmed.  
   
“I get that Vulcans live longer.” Jim spun the base of the cup around the palm of his hand. “But they must’ve thought they were done having kids before…and now…” he didn’t want to come out and say it, but he knew that everyone—and that included his first officer—with even a drop of Vulcan blood had been highly encouraged to, as they say, get busy.  
   
Spock was silent.  
   
“To go from having an empty nest to a toddler and a baby seems like it would be a lot, is all.” He chanced a look at Spock from underneath his eyelashes. “Your little cousin’s pretty cute though.”  
   
Spock looked hesitant. “Your supposition is not entirely correct.”  
   
“What, you don’t think the kid is cute? Spock, he’s fucking _adorable_. Did you see his face?”  
   
“He is an aesthetically pleasing child, of course, that is not what I meant,” Spock said impatiently. “But he and T’Satak are not Selek’s only siblings.”  
   
“Oh, you know what I mean. Shit, me and Sam have four years between us, but you wouldn’t catch my mother dead with raising another set of Kirk boys, especially more than fifteen years after she got the first set out of the house.” Lifting the cup to his lips once again, he watched as Spock shook his head.  
   
“The ‘nest’ as you say, has never been empty, Jim.”  
   
“Huh?”  
   
“Avarak is Sasak and T’Pel’s ninth child.”  
   
Jim spat out his water. “ _Ninth_?”  
   
“Indeed.”  
   
“As in, like, _ninth-_ ninth? Kid number nine?”  
   
“I am unaware of any other meaning to the word ‘ninth’ in Federation Standard, Jim.”  
   
“You told me when he was born,” Jim realized. He jabbed a finger at Spock. “You said he was the first new kid in your clan after the—after Vulcan.”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
Jim did some quick math. “They had eight kids even _before_ the Counsel told everyone to start having more babies?”  
   
Spock nodded. Jim stared.  
   
“I didn’t realize Vulcans had such, uh, large families.” He shook his head, disbelieving. “Not a logical expenditure of resources, or something. I don’t know. Was that stupid? Sorry, I just assumed. You don’t have any siblings.”  
   
Spock coughed. “In this respect,” he said delicately, “it is possible that my cousins are outside the norm.”  
   
Jim thought about the shape of the house: the thick rounded walls and the wooden beams and the curiously placed windchime. “I see,” he said slowly. He steepled his hands together. “And would you say that that is the only way in which your cousins are—unusual?”  
   
His response was a characteristic head tilt. “Perhaps not.” Jim’s gaze followed as Spock rose from the bed. “It is time for the evening meal.” He tipped his head in the direction of the doorway. “If you are sufficiently rested?”  
   
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jim said, favoring him with a light grin. He twisted to set his feet on the floor, testing his weight experimentally. His legs seemed like they would hold him, Jim thought, leveling himself up the rest of the way. His clothes were sweaty and a bit wrinkled, but he didn’t know if he had time to change. Spock, naturally, looked fresh as a daisy. “Hey, Spock, do you think I could—”  
   
He froze and nearly wobbled backward when he stood to find himself nose to nose with his First Officer, Spock’s arm outstretched and just meeting his elbow.  
   
“Spock,” Jim said quietly, very aware of how his breath brushed Spock’s face. “I’m fine. Promise.”  
   
Slowly, Spock dropped his arm. He stepped away, linking his hands behind his back. “This way,” he said.  
   
“Um,” said Jim. He tugged at his uniform. “Do you know where my bag went? I’m kind of gross.”  
   
Instead of answering, Spock reached down to the floor and pulled the small, Starfleet issue backpack out from behind the shadow of the bed. He handed it to Jim.  
   
“Thanks,” said Jim. He set it on the bed and fished out the shirt he had planned to wear on the way back tomorrow. It wasn’t regulation, but since it was technically shore leave, he thought he was entitled to something that wasn’t yellow. Joanna McCoy said the dark green suited him. Since she was a teenage girl, he deferred to her expertise.  
   
Spock politely turned his back while Jim changed, which Jim thought privately was ridiculous. After you’ve spent a week in an alien prison with a dude, gotten accidentally married to each other no less than three separate times, and had once undergone a rite of manhood while buck-naked together, hip deep in mud, and stoned out of kingdom come, skittishness at a little nipple seemed a bit passé.  
   
But, Jim thought, not without affection, that was Spock for you.  
   
He smoothed down his clean shirt and ran a quick hand through his hair. “Better?”  
   
Spock turned back around. “Suitably presentable, Captain,” he said, lingering on the collar of the green shirt. He extended a hand to flatten it down.  
   
Jim winked at him, causing Spock to huff out something that might have been a sigh, and together, they headed for the door.  
   
It was a good thing Spock had, however inadvertently, prepared him for what to expect from the family meal. Otherwise, Jim thought, he might have very well keeled over a second time from the whiplash of going from expecting one or two kids, to getting a whole solemn baseball team full of them.  
   
Selek was off-world, as Sasak told him, with an apologetic glance at Spock. Arev and Asil (“Twins,” Spock murmured, “close to me in age.”) shared their shift at the main hospital in New ShiKahr. But there was still T’Metana, and Torin, and T’Sarissa, and—  
   
Jim was never going to remember all these names. Avarak had claimed the seat next to him, and insisted on speaking to Jim only in Vulcan. On his other side, Spock muttered under his breath a sort of rough translation, enough to keep Jim from causing an embarrassing scene.  Already fed, T’Satak slept soundly in a bassinet by T’Pel’s side.  
   
Sasak offer him a platter with what looked like some kind of rolled dough. “They are made with _tolik_ fruit,” he said, when Jim took it. “Many of my human acquaintances have found them quite palatable.”  
   
“Really,” said Jim, shooting Spock a very interested look. He bit into it. “Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh my god.” It tasted like a cross between an apple and a mango, rolled in a croissant. “This is delicious.” He turned to Spock. “You should learn how to make this. Or at least program it.”  
   
“The taste would be subpar,” said Spock. “Sasak has spent many years perfecting his recipe.”  
   
There were two of the rolls on Spock’s plate, Jim noticed. He tried not to smile. “You’ve had many human acquaintances?” he asked Sasak instead.  
   
“Indeed.” Not even looking away from Jim, he reached out a large hand to prevent Avarak from liberating any more _t’mirak_ rice off an oblivious T’Sarissa’s plate. Jim pretended not to notice that the reason T’Sarissa, who looked about twelve, was oblivious to her little brother’s thievery, was because she had been staring dreamily at Jim for the majority of the meal.  
   
Damn. He hadn’t even known Vulcans _did_ dreamy.  
   
“My wife and I raised our family for several years near an Earth city called Santa Fe,” Sasak said. “I was apprenticing with one of the traditional builders there.”  
   
“Oh!” It clicked. “That’s why the,” he gestured, “it _is_ adobe?”  
   
“A very logical building style for the environment,” Sasak said, pleased. “Exceptionally less laborious than a traditional Vulcan cliff dwelling, and easy to expand if necessary.” He cast a look over the very full table before him. “I am sure you will understand—we had need for a great many rooms.”  
   
“I’ll bet,” said Jim. He snagged another pastry. He was definitely going to get Spock to make these some time.  
   
“The wood was imported,” T’Metana said coolly. “It would not be a logical building style for the rest of New Shikahr.”  
   
“Forestry would be an acceptable addition to the district’s agriculture,” Torin put in, setting down his PADD for the first time in the entirety of the meal. “The groundwater reserves are sufficient.”  
   
“Trees take many years to grow.”  
   
“That does not make the endeavor less worthwhile.”  
   
The back and forth between the siblings progressed with the air of a much-trodden argument. Jim focused on his other side, Spock’s shoulder radiating heat next to him. He suspected the conversations were in Standard for his sake, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Spock was deep in a dialogue with T’Pel. But when Jim listened in, he discovered that it wasn’t about theorems or recent journal articles, as he would have expected, but was rather an anecdote about their most recent encounter with one of those many beings that populated the galaxy playing around at being God.  
   
“Your Captain’s solution was clever,” T’Pel was saying thoughtfully.  
   
“It did provide the distraction we needed in order to regain control of the ship.”  
   
“Thanks,” said Jim. “But we were really just lucky to survive. Just doing my job, really.”  
   
T’Pel wrinkled her nose. “Skill, more so than luck, I would say.” She shared an uninterpretable glance with Sasak at the far end of the table. “Or perhaps, another one of those ‘intuitive’ leaps your people are so fond of.”  
   
“Sufficiently illogical in that a Vulcan would have been unlikely to consider it,” Sasak agreed. “And yet it was successful.”  
   
Jim coughed. “Ah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, sometimes the universe is an illogical place, I guess. So, you know. We get along fine.”  
   
At his side, Spock said nothing, but Jim got the sense he was pleased, nonetheless. Jim resisted the urge to give him a light kick in the shins for putting him at the center of attention.  
   
“It is gratifying to see you have found satisfaction with your work in Starfleet.” T’Pel directed this one to Spock, granting Jim a bit of a breather.  
   
“It has provided many opportunities.”  
   
“No doubt,” said Sasak. He and T’Pel shared another one of those little mystery looks. “We are pleased for you, Spock.”  
   
“The path you have chosen suits you well,” T’Pel added. Oddly enough, she was looking at Jim when she said it.  
   
Spock bowed his head.  
   
Jim wondered if he shouldn’t have invested in one of those newest universal translators when he’d had the opportunity back on Starbase 7. Though the conversation was in Standard, he felt like he was missing something.  
   
Jim had dined with Sarek often enough to expect the multiple courses. But after the meal, and then the ritual hand washing, and then the extensive tour of the house, during which Sasak expressed an almost unseemly amount of enthusiasm about kivas, and which was ultimately derailed when Avarak grabbed Jim’s sleeve to march him forcibly over to the garden to see _his_ personal row of _plomeek_ plants, T’Sarissa trailing behind, Spock managed to make their excuses and corral Jim back to his room.  
   
“Honestly, Spock,” Jim said through a yawn. “I’m fine. I’m awake. I swear.”  
   
“Forgive me if I do not believe you.”  
   
“I drank three whole glasses of water at dinner.”  
   
“Dr. McCoy also prescribed rest,” Spock reminded him. He shut the door, then turned back to Jim. “I have more tri-ox compounds,” he added. Jim rolled his eyes.  
   
“You would.”  
   
“Of course.” Spock began to shrug off his outer robe. Jim frowned.  
   
“What are you doing?”  
   
Spock gifted him with a raised eyebrow. His fingers stilled on one of the brass clasps. “I am preparing for bed.”  
   
“In _here_?” Jim cast a quick glance at the door, which was thankfully still closed, but he couldn’t be reassured it was going to stay that way. “Are you serious?”  
   
“This _is_ the guest room that T’Pel has assigned.”  
   
“But this one’s mine,” Jim said. He felt something cold pressing on his chest. “Spock, there’s only one bed.” He swallowed.  
   
“Yes?”  
   
Jim stared at him helplessly. Didn’t he _get it_?  
   
His robe halfway unbuttoned, Spock paused. “Jim,” he said softly, “they already know.”  
   
It was like a vice on his heart, cold water splashing over every inch of him. They had been so careful. The regulations—never too close—never too touchy— “They know?” he whispered. Spock stepped forward as if to steady him. Jim collapsed on the bed like he had been cut away at the knees. “How could they know?” If they were so obvious that even a couple of Vulcans he’d just met had picked up on it—  
   
Spock moved to sit next to him. “I told them.”  
   
Jim froze. “You what?”  
   
“I told them,” Spock repeated.  
   
“Oh my god,” Jim wheezed. He covered his face with his hands. “You _ass_ , Spock. You couldn’t have mentioned that going in?”  
   
“I did not believe it was necessary.”  
   
“You didn’t think it was _necessary_?” Jim echoed, his voice rising in pitch as the last words left his mouth. “Are you for real?”  
   
“I don’t understand.”  
   
“I just met your extended family and you didn’t think you should tell me that you were going to tell them that we’re— _us_?”  
   
“I…”  
   
“What the _fuck_? Why?”  
   
“I thought.” Spock looked hesitant. “I believed you would be ill at ease if you thought my cousins were,” he licked his lips. “If you believed they were judging you as my…rather than on your own merits as a person.”  
   
“Jesus Christ,” said Jim. He sucked in a couple of deep breaths. “That was a shit decision on your end,” he said finally, voice tightly controlled.  
   
“Ah,” said Spock.  
   
“Swear to god. _Never_ do that to me again.”  
   
“You’re angry,” Spock observed.  
   
Jim felt a little bit like screaming. Instead, he took another deep, forceful breath and said, “I get that you were trying to spare my fragile human emotions, or whatever—”  
   
“That was not my intent.”  
   
“It _was_ , Spock, and I appreciate that you probably thought you were being considerate, but something like this?” He gestured to the room, the house around them, the two of them sitting together on the bed. “Telling your family? Bringing me to visit? That isn’t the kind of shit that you can just decide for me. We might be together, Spock, but you don’t have that right.”  
   
“I…” said Spock. He stopped.  
   
A silence fell between them. Jim kept his hands firmly in his lap, his lips pressed together like they were the only thing now keeping a lid on the hurt and anger inside. Next to him, Spock could have been a statue. Jim swallowed.  
   
“We need to decide this stuff together,” he added.  
   
Spock’s shoulders slumped imperceptibly, his eyes fluttering shut. “I apologize,” he said. “You are correct.”  
   
“Damn right I am.” Jim rubbed at his temples. He exhaled. “So, if you were going to tell them but you didn’t want for this to be some kind of, I don’t know, _meet the parents,_ thing…why did you bring me here?”  
   
“T’Pel and Sasak are not my parents.”  
   
Jim gave him a pointed look that stopped just short of a glare.  
   
Spock swallowed. He bowed his head, eyes fixed on his lap. His voice was quiet. “Off-worlders frequently misunderstand our ways.”  
   
Jim waited.  
   
“I suppose I desired…” he trailed off. “It is illogical.”  
   
“That’s fine,” said Jim, who was reaching into reserves of patience he hadn’t known he possessed.  
   
“T’Pel and Sasak are very content with their family,” Spock said. His fingers twisted together. “My father—he still grieves. My people—the appearance of control, of serenity in the face of adversity is very important to us. Now so more than ever. But with T’Pel and Sasak…” he chanced a glance at Jim, who was watching him intently, brow furrowed. “It was perhaps not entirely logical,” he said, “but I wished for you to understand that, the contentedness my cousins share—it is not impossible—you would not be—” He struggled. “What I mean, Jim,” he said finally, “is that I hoped that by observing their bond, you would be reassured that, even given my heritage, I was not incapable of meeting all of your needs.”  
   
Despite himself, Jim felt the anger drain away. He placed one hand on top of the hands in Spock’s lap. “You’ve been worried about this the whole time?”  
   
Spock looked down. “I thought it best to be certain,” he said.  
   
Jim felt a twinge in his chest. He moved his hand to Spock’s cheek, just to the side of his meld points. He pressed gently, forcing Spock to turn his head and look back at him. “Spock,” he chided. “You idiot. I already knew that.” He leaned in for a kiss, just a light touch of the lips. He felt more than saw the tension leave Spock’s body in a long exhale. Jim guided him down to lay on the bed. He propped himself up on one elbow. “I already knew that,” he said again. He brushed a stray hair off of Spock’s forehead, touch lingering.  
   
“I did not want there to be any doubt.”  
   
“You are so damn good at over complicating things,” Jim informed him. “Like, expert level.”  
   
Spock caught him at the kiss that time, drew him in, made it deeper. His right hand reached up to tangle in Jim’s hair. Jim gave a pleased huff.  
   
“I was glad to meet them anyway.” He traced a finger along Spock’s jaw, up the line of his sharp cheekbone. “I like knowing that you had someone besides your parents who treated you like what you’re worth.”  
   
“What I’m worth?” Spock queried. His voice had gone deeper. His fingers splayed out under Jim’s shirt, along his lower back.  
   
Jim brushed his knuckles against Spock’s lips. “Everything,” he said.  
   
   
#  
   
   
“You know, I guess I really shouldn’t have been so surprised,” Jim said, much later when they were lying entwined in the dark.  
   
“You will need to specify,” came the lazy response.  
   
Jim shifted so that the covers pooled at his waist. He flicked on the bedside lamp. “You have a weird sense of chivalry,” he said. “You’ll suck my dick like a champ, but you still turn your back when I change my shirt.”  
   
Spock flushed verdant. “The situations are dissimilar,” he protested.  
   
“Uh huh.” Jim flicked his ear. “Anyway, trying to spare me from my own emotions is like, right up there.”  
   
“Jim,” Spock sighed. “I am sorry.”  
   
“I should make a list.”  
   
“Of?”  
   
“Your weird chivalry things.”  
   
“I do not believe that is necessary.”  
   
“I’m doing it,” said Jim. He pretended to write something on the palm of his hand with an invisible stylus. “Item One: weird Victorian attitude towards nipples.”  
   
He was so engrossed that he failed to notice Spock reaching over to tweak one of the nipples in question. Jim yelped.  
   
“Item two,” he managed.  
   
“Be silent,” Spock rumbled, and rolled on top of him.  
   
   
   
   
 

**Author's Note:**

> Vulcan Translations
> 
> Dif tor heh smusma - Live long and prosper  
> Sochya eh dif - Peace and long life  
> Wilat if Spock? - Where is Spock?  
> Vu Sa-Mekh? - Your father?  
> Tonk’peh Ko-mekh - Hello, Mother  
> Gla-tor nash-veh - It is obvious  
> Ah - Yes
> 
> Aerlalaith.tumblr.com


End file.
